


The Curse of Nerdanel

by Idhren15



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loneliness, Oneshot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 17:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idhren15/pseuds/Idhren15
Summary: They left her waiting. For so long, they left her waiting.But she can't hold on forever.A brief look into the life of Nerdanel, and how she copes - or not - with the migration of her sons into Mandos. Oneshot.





	The Curse of Nerdanel

**Author's Note:**

> Tagged this with major character death because it's based around the deaths of the sons of Fëanor.
> 
> Mostly hurt & loneliness, really. 
> 
> This isn't a happy fic, though the ending is bittersweet. 
> 
> And it's my first Silmarillion fic so, hello, fandom!

Nerdanel set the sculpting tools down, staring at stone carvings she'd made. Eight busts stood in a neat line, each one dear to her heart.  
And absent from her home.  
Her fist clenched. The final two were finished now, the most beautiful and lifelike she had ever made, but she only saw anger as she looked at the first.  
Fëanáro.  
She loved him. All she'd ever done was love him, and out of that love came her seven beautiful sons: Maitimo, Makalaurë, Tyelkormo, Carnistir, Atarinkë, and the two Ambarussa...  
And he took them away from her.  
"Come with us," he had commanded, standing between her and their sons. She could see Maitimo's copper head behind him, so close, yet so far out of reach. And when she refused, begging for him to at least leave one with her- surely the twins were too young for the travel? - he laughed in her face and called her a traitor.  
A traitor.  
Yet who had been the one to slay his kin?  
She bowed her head, refusing to look at his carved stone features. He resided now in the Halls of Mandos, she had been told. He'd asked for her as well.  
She'd refused.  
She just had her work now. That was all that mattered.

They were talking about her family again, she knew it. Though she avoided most conversation, she was often present, sitting silently in the corner as she chipped away at a stone, secretly listening to the words of others. That was how she'd learnt of Nolofinwë's challenge and death, of the human Beren and the elf-maid Lúthien, of the deaths of Findaráto and the valiant Findekáno; but no news of her sons.  
Nothing.  
She hated not knowing. Were they still alive? In what condition? She'd tried to talk to Findaráto when he returned shortly after his death, but he shied away from the topic. Indeed, she inquired after Maitimo and was met with a blank look at first.  
"You know, Nelyafinwë. Russandol," she explained.  
"Ah, of course." Findaráto's soft grey eyes grew rather distant. "He doesn't go by that name anymore."  
'Why ever not?' Nerdanel had wondered, but Findaráto seemed loathe to discuss it further. Since his re-embodiment, he'd spent most of his time with his father. She did not see much of him after that initial awkward conversation. He did, however, speak briefly of Atarinkë and Tyelkormo, and her grandson Tyelperinquar. Oh, how she longed to see them all again! Her sons of course, but little Tyelpe as well. Though she supposed he was not so little anymore. How had he grown? Was he as alike in face to his father as Atarinkë was to Fëanáro? Nerdanel glanced at the unfinished sculpture in the corner of the room. No matter how hard she'd tried, she could not make Tyelpe's likeness in stone. Not when she did not know how he looked.  
'You'll see them again,' other elves tried to reassure her.  
'But will I?' She couldn't help but wonder. Mandos' words still resonated in her mind- 'slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief'- and her heart clenched with panic and fear. Her sons did not deserve that Doom.  
None of them deserved it.

"They are in the Halls."  
Immediately the workshop fell silent. Nerdanel wiped her hands on her apron, barely able to keep her voice from shaking. "Who? May I see them?"  
"The three middle ones. And you will have to ask Mandos."  
She did not just ask him. She begged, pleaded, cried, until he at last relented and admitted her to see her deceased sons. Tyelkormo... Carnistir... Atarinkë...  
But they were different.  
Tyelkormo was colder, harder. She did not recognise him at first; gone was his cheeky smirk, and the playful light of his eyes.  
Carnistir was.... Carnistir. He was so unchanged it was almost unnerving. Yet the darkness in his face that had gave him his father-name was enhanced, scaring Nerdanel momentarily.  
And Atarinkë... He had grown even more like his father, she could hardly believe it. Yet the emotion churning within him was one she knew all too well.  
Hurt. Regret. The loss of children. Or, in his case, a child.  
"I didn't get to tell him I was sorry," he mumbled, over and over again. Nerdanel later found out that, because of their deeds with Lúthien, Tyelperinquar had rebuked his father and refused to leave Nargothrond.  
And Atarinkë never had the chance to apologise.  
His regret was too painful for her to bear. She visited them still, of course she did, but it was almost worse than having them out of her reach. At least she could've envisioned them as they were before... not the worn-down shells she saw now.

Still no news. The third kinslaying had reunited her with both Ambarussa, but even they were changed.  
And there was nothing about her eldest sons.  
She asked after sweet-voiced Makalaurë, and her dear Maitimo, but no-one spoke of them. They were traitors, some said. Left Findekáno and his forces to the mercy of Orcs. Murderers as well, guilty of more kinslayings.  
She didn't believe it. She couldn't.  
They wouldn't do those things, she told herself. Yet the numerous fëar pouring into the Halls suggested otherwise.  
But... Maitimo was best friends with Findekáno! Surely he would not forsake him? And when would Makalaurë ever act in cold blood?  
The eyes of the other Eldar became far too much for her to bear. She gave up trying to plead for her sons; everyone was convinced they were worse than Fëanáro himself. So she turned back to her work, perfecting the carvings, unable to keep the cold reality from creeping into their once-soft eyes.

The Vanyar rode out to war. At last, she thought. Why couldn't they have gone with her family? Maybe then they would all be safe. Back here, in her house.  
Not in the cold, cruel Halls.  
She had terrible dreams of late. Burning pain, then fires, more fires, and finally cold darkness. She dared not speak of them to anyone.  
Not that she conversed with other elves anyway.  
Her solitude was her comfort. That, and the occasional visits she made to the Halls.  
She still had hope. Two of her sons were yet to return, and rumour had it the Vanyar would bring back any remaining Noldor... She could dare to dream that her sons would be among them.  
When their ships returned, she ran down to the shore, experiencing the sea air since- she couldn't remember when. But there was nothing. No beautiful, tall son, nor the musician whose songs even now haunted her mind.  
And she knew that the dreams of the fires had been far too real.  
Later she would learn that it was Maitimo who fell, a thought she could not quite fathom. Why? Why would he throw it all away? She longed to see him, but his fëa was in no state.  
So she waited, and carved, and waited some more.

It had been almost two ages. The war with Sauron was progressing, or so she last heard from a reborn Sindar elf. Not that she cared. Since Tyelperinquar's death, she had stopped caring about the world that lay far to the east. Everyone she cared for was in Mandos.  
No, not everyone, she dared to remind herself, fingers tracing the stone carving she was never able to perfect.  
"Come back to me, Maka," she whispered to her last remaining son.  
But he never did.

The ships came. The age of the Eldar was over, they said. She still couldn't care, but if that were the case, where was he? Where was her second child? Why didn't he return with the one who named him as foster-father? Why didn't he return with the latecomers?  
Why couldn't he just come home?  
She wept, as it was all she seemed to do, all her body was capable of. Her hands shook too much to hold her tools. Her voice betrayed her every emotion so she would not hold conversation. Her mind plagued her at night so she could not rest.  
The Eldar whispered about her, she knew it, but she cared not. Her sons were lost, lost to the dark halls of Mandos, and to the land she would never visit.  
She didn't really see the point in enduring anymore.

Grey walls surrounded her, and this time she knew she could not pass. Not that it mattered, anyway. The land of the living held nothing for her. Almost all that she loved was here.  
She found her sons again, truly embraced them for the first time in millenia. Even Maitimo, whose fëa was severely damaged, seemed to brighten and heal at her touch.  
Life was too much, she told them. She waited and waited but could not hold back the grief any longer. Her death was like Míriel's, or so she was told.  
She couldn't remember it.  
But she did not regret allowing herself to go. She would bear the curse of waiting with her family this time.

It was the Seventh Age. A lonely boat rolled up on the shores of Valinor, carrying a long-overdue traveller, with a broken harp and scarred hand.  
He looked for her, sought her out, but was met with only grief and ruin.  
She was long gone, they told him. Gone with the others.  
So he set sail from the land, and was never seen again. Because, what was the point in staying? The ones he loved the most were entirely out of his reach.  
He would bear the curse of a wanderer, never to settle again. 

**Author's Note:**

> The male at the very end was Maglor, incase you were wondering.
> 
> Quick guide to names:  
> Fëanáro = Fëanor  
> Maitimo = Maedhros  
> Makalaurë = Maglor  
> Tyelkormo = Celegorm  
> Carnistir = Caranthir  
> Atarinkë = Curufin  
> Ambarussa = the twins, Amrod & Amras  
> Tyelperinquar = Celebrimbor  
> Nolofinwë = Fingolfin  
> Findekáno = Fingon  
> Findaráto = Finrod
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
